Airplanes
by made.for.life
Summary: After a bad accident, Steve is left wishing he could have done something, anything. Someone once told him that fold a hundred paper cranes could grant a wish. He was no good at the delicate cranes so he tries something else.
Steve pressed down, creasing a line in the paper, obscuring the words written in bold black heavy handed letters like the others before it. He paused. Wind blew in from the open door to the balcony. The soldier rose from his seat and paced out on to the concrete and steel platform. A radio was playing in the background but he had long ago tuned it out. Steve leaned against the railing. It was a freezing cold night. It felt clear. He looked up. No stars. He could never see the stars here. His heart ached. The blonde spun frantically trying to even find the moon but it was obscured behind the buildings. Thousands of city lights and sounds blind his mind but suddenly one cut through all the rest.

 _Can we pretend that airplanes_

 _In the night sky are like shooting stars?_

 _I could really use a wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

Steve rubbed his head in agony. Sometimes it just felt like his mind was projected onto everything. Of course the machine very well could have read his mind. He wouldn't know. Radios had come so far. Even this one that was made to look old fashioned.

 _Can we pretend that airplanes_

 _In the night sky are like shooting stars?_

 _I could really use a wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

 _Yeah, I could use a dream or a genie or a wish_

 _To go back to a place much simpler than this._

Tony would know. He probably designed the whole thing that way. If the inventor were here right now he would ask him. But he wasn't. The soldier stomped back to the table and smashed the finishing few creases into the paper sloppily.

Someone told him once that the Chinese fold a hundred cranes and get their wishes granted. Steve couldn't fold a delicate crane. He picked up his construction. But he could fold paper airplanes. He threw it. The thing went straight up in the air and nosed dived to join the others. The hollow crinkling of paper and the rustle as it settled. They stirred slightly in the air streaming through the doors.

"Every single one." He muttered gruffly.

He had been writing and folding for three days now. At first they had all said the same thing. _Please wake up._ Over and over again. They changed though. He couldn't just want he had to explain. _I miss your smile._ Everywhere he looked around the tower he could see where the inventor should be. _I miss your hands._

Every message he scrawled brought back flashes. The battle. So simple. An easy fight. Nothing intense. It should have been absolutely nothing. But it got Tony. Thrown. Falling. Not stopping. Hitting the ground. Folding painfully into the concrete like it a block thrown onto a bed. He didn't move and Steve couldn't, couldn't reach him.

 _Please, I love you._ Steve scribbled desperately. He wrote it again and again. He had struck on the truth.

He loved Tony fucking Stark.

A burst of freezing air caught one of the love planes and made it coast. It flew. It flew! Of all the ones to fly. Steve gritted his teeth. Of all the goddamned planes to fly. He shoved back from the table in frustration. His hands flew to its edge. With a crash the whole mess of extra paper, pencils, and wood shattered against the floor.

"Jesus Christ Cap!" A voice called out. "What the hell happened?"

Steve spun on his heels. Tony stood in the doorway. A bandage was wrapped around his head and chest under his coat. One arm laid in a blue sling. And the inventor looked absolutely astonished. Tony gaped at the broken bits of table, and he gaped at the mountain of paper airplanes, and he gaped at the open window.

Finally he closed his mouth and went to address the most pressing issue. "For god's sake Steve, maybe you like being a Capsicle but for reference's sake, it's twelve degrees out there." Tony shut the doors to the overhang. "What did you do it here anyways Cap? Throw a folding paper party?" He shuffled into the midst of the pile of planes.

The blonde was absolutely silent, still unable to close his mouth properly. He swallowed and scrubbed at his eyes quickly. Hot tears flooded up, trying to flood over but Steve fought them back.

"Tony?" Steve's voice almost didn't waver. "Good to see you up."

The dark haired man frowned. Tony was not able to pride himself in being particularly perceptive to the emotions of others so the soldier had to be blatantly upset. As usual he ignored the sentiment hoping it would go away.

"Glad to be up." He bent and picked up a plane. "But seriously, what's with the planes?"

He tossed one. The small projectile flew straight up and spiraled directly downward. Tony frowned he picked up another.

"You folded these unevenly." He complained.

Tony shook off his sling and unfolded the plane. Steve stiffened, taking in a breath quickly, as if it would be his last. The inventor paused, looking at the scribbled note inside. He picked up another and a redness crawled onto the soldier's face the more he read.

The shorter man unfolded another plane. His hand clapped to mouth. The soldier turned slightly. Tony looked at him with an unknown kind of softness to his eyes.

 _Can we pretend that airplanes_

 _In the night sky are like shooting stars?_

 _I could really use a wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

 _Wish right now._

"Steve?" Tony went over to him.

Blue eyes flicked to his quickly and away. Aggressively, the inventor grabbed his chin. He jerked his jaw open as if to yell. Then he closed it and swallowed. Tony glanced away for a second to gather his courage. He looked back, holding Steve's gaze.

"I love you too." He whispered.

A tremor ran through the blonde's body and he wrapped his arms around the inventor, _his_ inventor.

Tony returned the almost desperate hug. "I am so sorry I scared you."

"I should have saved you." A slightly tearful edge ran into the usually commanding voice.

"No baby." The dark haired man nuzzled the side of his neck. "It was my fault. My stupid fault. Don't you dare try to take the blame on this one. It's okay. God, I love you too. I love you."

If Steve broke and cried, neither said a word.


End file.
